Family Ties
by Melissa Anne Potter
Summary: Post-season 6. Soul memory doesn't work the same as physical memory. After the wall in Sam's head falls, memories of Hell engulf his mind. Meanwhile, Dean scrambles to pick up the pieces of his broken world. Warning: I don't list warnings.
1. Chapter 1: Broken

Family Ties

Summary: Post-season 6. Soul memory doesn't work the same as physical memory. After the wall in Sam's head falls, memories of Hell engulf his mind. Meanwhile, Dean scrambles to pick up the pieces of his broken world. Warning: I don't list warnings.

Author's note: This story takes place right as season 6 ends. As such, there are spoilers for the season finale. (I started writing this fic around the middle of season 6 but decided not to post it until the season ended so that I could go back and rewrite it to keep it in line with canon.)

I'll be honest, this story is not for the faint of heart. I wrote this as a challenge for myself to write something that makes me intensely uncomfortable. (Or, at least, as uncomfortable as I can make myself while remaining at an M rating.) Because of the psychological nature of this fic, it would be hard to list warnings or pairings for it even if I wanted to. Let's just say I'm going to be detailing Sam's time in Hell and leave it at that. If anyone wants an expanded list of the major labels, warnings, and "pairings," I can provide one in a private message. It's not my intention to trigger anyone; I just don't want to spoil anything. (There's another reason I'm not listing pairings that will probably become evident somewhere around chapter 2. I will mention that if you're too uncomfortable reading about slash or incest though, you probably shouldn't read this.)

That said, enjoy.

-o-o-o-

Chapter 1: Broken

Sam fought hard to hold back the tide. He could not let himself break down. Not now. Not when Dean and Bobby were off fighting Crowley, and possibly Castiel, somewhere. If they were even still alive.

Still, hard as he tried, bits and pieces leaked through, flames licking at the edge of his mind. As he drew nearer the building, it was all he could do to remember why he was here.

He clutched his head, tugging at the roots of his hair to ground himself in the moment. _Almost there,_ he thought to himself. _Just a few more minutes_. He could not let himself think beyond those few minutes.

He had a stunning moment of clarity inside the building. He could not remember how he got there, but that did not matter. He could see Dean, Bobby, and Castiel. Castiel's back was to him. Sam knew what he had to do. He raised the angel blade, not remembering or caring how it got into his hand, and plunged it downward.

Nothing happened.

Castiel turned and said words to him. Sam heard them but did not understand. A wave of nausea took him, but he hardly noticed it. He was already falling away toward a crackle of flames and a low voice calling his name.

-o-o-o-

Dean did not have long to think on Castiel's words. When he saw Sam fall, his vision narrowed. He forgot where he was, who was standing in front of him, the danger he was in.

"Sam!" He darted past Castiel, oblivious to Bobby's attempts to stop him, reaching Sam just as he landed. To Dean's surprise, Sam did not pass out or convulse. He fell to his knees and retched, spewing out a watery stream of vomit.

Dean dropped down beside Sam and grabbed his shoulder. "Sammy?"

Sam's head just rolled on his shoulders before coming to rest where it had before. His eyes stared at the ground, vacant.

"Dean." Bobby's voice penetrated the haze in Dean's brain.

Dean leapt to his feet and rushed Castiel, seizing a handful of his trench coat in each fist. "Fix him!"

Castiel did not waver. "Swear your allegiance to me."

"Dean…" Bobby tried again.

Dean ignored him. "Listen to me, you son of a bitch. I don't know what you are, and I don't give a rat's ass. You bring him back or I swear to God, I will hunt down a way to kill you."

Without a single change of expression, Castiel raised a hand to touch Dean's forearm. The strength went out of Dean's limbs. He lost his grip on Castiel, and his knees hit the ground.

"The pieces of your brother's conscious have mended faster than I anticipated," Castiel said. "The wall cannot be rebuilt." For just a brief moment, he looked regretful. Then, he vanished.

The feeling returned to Dean's legs at the same time, but he still could not move.

"Dean?" Hands shook Dean's shoulders. "Damn it, Dean, snap out of it!"

Dean blinked. Bobby crouched in front of him, watching him with mixed apprehension and impatience.

"We gotta get out of here," Bobby said, "now."

"I…" Dean fought to string together enough coherent thought to speak. "I…I don't…"

He felt a sharp blow across his face and the vice grip on his shoulders resumed. "Don't you dare do this to me," Bobby growled. "Not now."

The panic in Bobby's voice was just enough to bring Dean's focus together. Still unable to speak, he nodded once.

Bobby's shoulders slumped, and he bowed his head for a second before snapping back to business. "I need to make a call," he said, taking Dean by the arms and helping him to his feet.

Dean could only nod again. With some reluctance, he turned his back on Bobby, who was already dialing a number into his cell phone.

Sam had not budged an inch. Dean made his way over to him on shaky legs and knelt in front of him. "Sammy?" He raised a hand, hesitated, then rested it against Sam's jaw, tilting his head up. Sam just stared out at him with empty eyes. "Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

Footsteps approached. "I called in a favor to get us a car," Bobby said. "We need to get him outside."

Dean did not move for a moment. When he did finally let go, Sam's head stayed where it was instead of falling back down. Dean stood and stooped to slide an arm under Sam's. Bobby did the same.

"On three," Bobby said. "One, two…"

The moment they started pulling upward, Sam began to rise all on his own. He clambered to his feet, nearly sending both Dean and Bobby toppling over. Dean let out an ecstatic burst of air, but his hopes were soon dashed when he saw that, although Sam was standing on his own two feet, his eyes were just as dead as before.

"Back off a second," Bobby said. "Let me try something."

Dean wanted to do no such thing, but he obeyed without a fight, taking a few steps to one side. Bobby wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders and started forward. Sam moved with him, matching him step for step, still with the same dull expression.

"Well, that should make things easier anyway," Bobby said, dropping his hands. "You take him. I'm probably better in a fight than you right now."

Even if the statement had been meant as an insult, it would have been lost on Dean. He followed the command, taking Sam by the shoulders and steering him after Bobby. Following orders was easy. Following orders he could do.

-o-o-o-

Sam had expected to remember everything at once. That was the way it was when he merged with his soulless self. Even as he fought so hard to keep himself together, he had thought that tidal wave would bring it all crashing back.

He had not expected to find himself, after the initial burn and the voice had died away, in darkness and silence.

Paranoia edged in around him. There was something out there. He could feel it brushing past him in the dark. The touch was light, almost incidental, but it made him shudder.

Far away, he heard a familiar voice calling his name. "Dean!" he yelled, but it was no use. The nothingness swallowed his voice.

"He can't hear you."

Sam whirled around and saw a carbon copy of himself standing a few feet away, flipping a knife in the air and catching it by the handle over and over. Sam recognized Ruby's knife, the knife that killed demons.

"No," Sam breathed, backing away. He only made it a few steps before his feet froze to the spot and would not move again. "This isn't happening. I killed you already."

The other him caught the knife one last time and lowered his hand. He looked at Sam with eyes that were his but not his. "Don't be so naïve, Sam. You know who I am."

And Sam did. In an instant, he knew that his assumption that this was his soulless self was ridiculous. Even without a soul, he had never looked like this.

Something soft buffeted Sam's body, almost knocking him over. A screech filled his ears, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

"Patience, brother," Lucifer said. "You'll have your turn."

A strong wind swept over them both, and a horrific figure of swirling light towered overhead that was so bright it made Sam's head ache and his eyes water. Tendrils of wispy energy stretched out from a set of massive wings and wrapped around Lucifer, crackling and popping. Lucifer waived off the tendrils as though they were annoying flies, and they dissipated along with the looming figure.

"I apologize for my brother. He lacks subtlety. I'm sure you can understand."

Sam tried again to move, but his feet held fast.

"You're wondering why you don't remember," Lucifer continued. His lips drew up into a smirk. "Your other self neglected to mention. Soul memory doesn't quite work that way."

He held up his free hand, palm facing toward Sam. Sam's body went rigid, and his arms were lifted up away from his body and held outstretched as though by invisible ropes.

Lucifer closed the distance between them in an instant. The cool blade pressed against Sam's forearm, moving back and forth in motions that could almost be described as caresses. Then, on the fifth pass, the blade shifted a hair's width and sliced into his skin.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from reacting. A thin circle of flesh fell to the ground with an audible thump too loud for such a small object. Lucifer pressed his thumb into the wound. In spite of Sam's best efforts, this elicited a strangled moan through his gritted teeth. He might have fallen to his knees if he was not being held in place by some unseen force.

"You've gone soft." Lucifer dug his thumbnail in, unfazed by the blood welling out of Sam's arm. "I can fix that."

He lifted his blood-streaked hand from the wound and raised it again. Sam's neck stiffened, forcing him to stare straight ahead. Lucifer pressed the blade against Sam's cheek, and Sam instinctively shut his eyes.

"Tsk, tsk." Phantom fingers wrenched Sam's eyes back open. "You don't get off that easy."

The knife bit into Sam's cheek less than an inch from his eye. He screamed.

-o-o-o-

Dean passed the next hour in a haze. He had a vague recollection of a truck pulling up in front of the building, towing a rusty old car behind it. Bobby introducing him to a stout woman with a wild mane of brown hair whose name was gone from his mind just as quickly as it entered. She handed Bobby a set of keys and lowered the car to the ground for them.

In spite of Sam's compliance, getting him into the car was a tricky feat. Three times Dean had to stop him from cracking his head on the top of the car. Finally, between Dean and Bobby, they managed to shove Sam into the back seat of the car. Then, the two of them and the woman set to the task of rolling the Impala over. The windows were all shattered, but aside from a few sizable dents, the frame itself had retained its shape for the most part. Once the car was back on its wheels, the woman got into her truck and backed it toward the Impala so Bobby could hook the car to the truck.

"You still got weapons on you?" Bobby asked.

Dean ran a quick mental check of the weapons he had on him. Two hand guns. A vial of holy water. Ruby's knife. He nodded.

"Good." Bobby turned his attention to the woman, who leaned out of her window to await instructions. "Follow behind us. We've got a stop to make."

Dean wondered vaguely where they would be stopping, but he got into the passenger seat of the rusty car without a word. Bobby slid into the driver's seat and, after a few tries, managed to get it started.

Their drive was a short one, but Dean still checked on Sam at least a dozen times during the trip. Every time he looked back he saw that Sam was still in the same position they had left him in: sitting upright and staring straight ahead.

Bobby pulled into a motel a few miles down the road, and the truck followed close behind.

"Stay here," Bobby said. He got out of the car, took a quick look around, and stepped into the motel.

Dean turned around in his seat immediately. He need not have bothered. Sam had not moved.

Bobby was inside for only a few minutes, but they were an excruciating few minutes. When he did come back out, he gave a wave to the woman in the truck and walked around to Dean's window. "Let's get him inside," he said.

If getting Sam into the car was a challenge, getting him out was near impossible. He put up no resistance, but he did not help the process along either nor did he seem to care if he got hurt. He did not even flinch when Dean accidentally banged his shoulder against the frame of the car.

Finally they got Sam out. From there, steering him over to the outside door to the room Bobby had gotten was easy. Bobby unlocked the door and, between the two of them, they led Sam inside and, by pushing down on his shoulders, managed to sit him on one of the two beds in the sparsely furnished room.

"Wait here," Bobby said, and he disappeared back through the door without a word of explanation. Dean stayed right where he was. His mind was still too muddled to do much more than what he was told. Besides, he could not think to leave Sam alone, even for a moment.

Bobby returned carrying two duffle bags of clothes, one Dean's the other Sam's, from the backseat of the Impala. He deposited these along the wall and approached Dean, gripping his shoulders.

"Dean," he said, "I need you to focus. Can you do that?"

Dean stared back at Bobby, who was obviously trying his best to look confident, to hide his worry. With some effort, Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"We can't take Sam back to my house. That's the first place Cas or Crowley would look. But to stand a chance of helping Sam, we need every scrap of information we have on souls and Hell. So I'm going to go back and get as many books as I can."

"But…"

"Don't argue with me, boy. Now, I want you to lock down this room with every anti-demon and anti-angel ward you know. It probably won't keep Cas out, so we'll just have to hope he can't find you. I'll leave the car in case you need it, but don't go anywhere unless you absolutely have to. If you need food, have it delivered. Otherwise, don't open the door or answer the phone for anyone but me. Do you understand?"

"I…" Dean knew he should argue, but he could not summon the words.

"I said do you understand?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah what?"

Dean closed his eyes, gathering everything he could to make one simple statement. "Yes, sir, I understand."

"Good. I shouldn't be gone more than a day, but I bought out the room for a week just in case. If you haven't heard from me by that time, assume the worst." He patted Dean's shoulder. "Take care of your brother."

Dean had heard that order enough times to know exactly how to answer. "Yes, sir."

And without another word, Bobby was gone.

Dean knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he was supposed to ward the room. Instead, all he could manage to do was make his way over to the unoccupied bed and sit down. He stared across at Sam. He had hoped, when Sam showed up and stabbed Castiel that he was better. That somehow the memories of Hell had not caused him as much pain as they had feared.

But this state he was in now was different than the one after Castiel broke down the wall. Sam had been unconscious then. But now…Dean was not even sure how to describe the state Sam was in now. He might have said "soulless," but he had seen Sam with no soul.

Right now, he would have given anything to have even a soulless Sam back.

-o-o-o-

Author's note: Please review. I'm definitely looking for some constructive criticism on this one since I'm trying to make it fit with the ending of season 6. Next chapter: Sam fights to stay strong, but Lucifer has more in his repertoire than just physical torture and he's not the only one getting in on the fun. Meanwhile, Dean is faced with a new symptom from Sam and a visit from the last person he wants to see.


	2. Chapter 2: Detached

Author's note: Much thanks for the reviews! In answer to the reviewer who wondered what type of feedback I'm looking for, I'm really not picky. Anything that jumps out at you, whether it's something that works or doesn't work, is fair game. If you need a focus, I am a little concerned with my characterizations of Dean and Castiel, since I've had to adjust them so much in light of season 6's finale. I also want to be sure my dialogue for the characters is good. Since I spend a lot of time watching shows like Doctor Who and reading books like Harry Potter, I sometimes have a hard time slipping into Supernatural-mode.

Also, on the off chance the person who reviewed "Apocalypse Soon" is reading this, no, I'm not planning to continue that story. In fact, I'll probably be taking it down soon. Season five started before I really got into writing it and kind of shot down all of my theories. But bits and pieces of what I planned for that story's plot have made their way into this fic, particularly in Sam's interactions with Lucifer.

That said, enjoy.

-o-o-o-

Chapter 2: Detached

Every inch of Sam's body radiated pain from the shallow cuts, too numerous now to count. His rational mind knew why the pain was affecting him so badly: there were no endorphins in Hell. His body did not try to dull his pain because he had no true physical body here.

Lucifer paced a slow line back and forth in front of Sam, the front of his plaid shirt splattered with blood. "You are wondering," he said, "why I am not hurting you more. I won't lie; I did. So did my brother. Oh, we did not bother with masks." He indicated his own face, still an exact replica of Sam's. "We had no need. We flayed every inch of flesh from your bones and dug out the marrow with our fingers. When there was nothing left, we made you whole and started over. A year in, you had forgotten almost everything; another two and you forget yourself. And Dean…oh, you called out Dean's name for seven long years. But eventually, you forgot him too.

"Now, see, my brother was content just to continue as we were. But as you can imagine, I found the brute torture a mite dull. So I let you off the hook for a while. I showed you images of yourself, your family, your brother. I made you remember. And then…" He smirked. "…then the real fun began."

He set the flat edge of the knife's blade against Sam's chin and pressed upward, forcing him to lift his head. Sam felt a warm trickle of blood down his neck. When his eyes settled on Lucifer again, he saw not his own image, but Azazel's staring back at him.

"Let's start at the beginning, shall we?" Lucifer waved a hand and the empty space around them transformed into a dark, familiar room. Beside them was a crib.

Sam felt his pain ease, and he began to regain himself. "So this is it?" he muttered. "We're just gonna watch home videos?"

"Oh this?" Lucifer indicated the room. "This is just scenery. Look." He motioned at the crib.

Sam looked. The crib was empty.

Lucifer shook up his sleeve to uncover his forearm. He drew a thumbnail across his wrist. The scent of blood filled the air, a thousand times stronger than the small trickle should have created. And, beneath that smell, a tang that sent Sam's nerves into overdrive. Demon blood.

Lucifer lifted his hand to Sam's face. With some effort, Sam jerked his head to one side, and Lucifer's wrist scraped the side of his face, leaving a wet trail of blood at the edge of his lips.

Sam let out a strangled gasp, all too aware that the blood was right there, within reach. All he had to do was dart his tongue out and lick the corner of his lips. He clamped his teeth down hard.

Lucifer just smiled and turned his attention to the doorway.

There stood Sam's mother in her white nightgown. Her midsection was soaked dark red, but he could not smell her blood. He could only smell the blood on his face.

Mary approached, a pitying look in her eyes. She rested a hand on his cheek and used her thumb to wipe away the blood.

His lip twitched, another ragged breath of air escaping. "Mom?"

"Shh, Sammy." Mary pressed a finger to Sam's mouth. "It'll be okay."

She shifted her hand and smeared the blood on his lips.

Sam could not say if he broke through the bonds that were holding him or if they released at precisely that moment. He stumbled backwards and crashed into the wall, hitting the floor. He tried as hard as he could to keep his lips pressed together, but the damage was done. His mouth flooded with the taste of metal and with it an electric current that had him teetering on the edge of sanity.

A white shape moved into his vision. He blinked and saw Mary crouched in front of him.

"You're not her." Sam's voice shook.

"No, I'm not." She leaned forward and pressed her cheek against his. "But it sure feels like I am, doesn't it?" Her teeth grazed his ear.

Sam's throat convulsed. He leaned his face away from her, but she had him pinned against the wall and his limbs had locked down again, leaving him powerless to stop her.

The room around them shook as though from an earthquake, the pictures on the walls rattling.

Mary laughed and leaned back. In an instant, she transformed into a mirror image of Sam.

"My turn's over," Lucifer said. "We'll continue this later."

He snapped his fingers and vanished. A split second later, white hot light enveloped the room, and Sam forgot all about his mother and Lucifer. All he knew was pain: piercing, burning, unyielding pain.

-o-o-o-

Dean, who had been watching Sam like a hawk, noticed the change right away. One moment, Sam was sitting upright, returning Dean's stare with about as much intensity as a mannequin. The next, his head slumped forward and his hands clenched in fists, his breath coming out in low, uneven hisses.

"Sam?" Dean stumbled over to Sam. He noticed now the acrid smell of urine and saw, with some guilt, that the front of Sam's jeans was dark. But mostly he was hopeful. Maybe this meant Sam was coming out of it. Maybe it would be like last time: just a brief episode and then he would be fine. "Sammy?" Dean reached out to touch Sam's shoulder.

The effect was immediate. Sam let out an agonized groan and jerked out of Dean's grasp, falling flat on his back and seizing.

Dean jumped back from the shock and stayed where he was, not wanting to touch Sam again for fear that he might make it worse. He could only stand back and hope that it was short lived.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. Half an hour and Sam's seizure showed no signs of stopping.

Dean sat on the edge of his own bed, covering his mouth with his hand. He felt so lost. Even more lost than either of the times Sam had died. At least then he knew what to do. The first time, he knew he had to make that deal. The second time he had his orders from Sam to go find Lisa. But this time there was no deal, and there was no Lisa to go to. There was only Sam.

But that was not true. There was someone else. He would know what to do.

Dean fumbled in his pocket, never once taking his eyes off Sam. He blindly pushed the buttons on his phone and raised it to his ear.

He did not have to wait long. "What happened?" Bobby's gruff voice asked.

Dean opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"Dean?" Bobby prompted, unease in his voice.

"I…" Dean tried again to speak and failed.

"Were you attacked?"

"N…no."

There was a burst of static on the line as Bobby sighed. "Is Sam okay?"

Dean watched Sam's continued convulsions. "I…I don't…"

"Okay, Dean. Just stay where you are. I'll be there as soon as I can."

The phone clicked to dead air. After several long moments, Dean lowered the phone.

-o-o-o-

Sam forgot everything. He forgot seeing his mother. He forgot the blood smeared on his lips even before they were sliced off. He forgot why he was here and even where "here" was. Near the end, he started to forget who he was. All he remembered was that terrible figure towering over him, slicing, tearing, searing…

And Dean. He remembered Dean. Even after he forgot Dean's name, he remembered him, a vague presence hovering somewhere in his mind, just barely tangible.

He shied away from it. He would rather not remember. It would be so much easier if he did not.

-o-o-o-

Dean did not need the flickering lights to announce the presence in the room nor did he need to turn. He knew who was there. "Get out," he hissed.

"I know it's hard," Castiel said, "seeing him like this."

Dean closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. He could almost feel the waves of power emanating from Castiel and hoped that Castiel could feel the hatred he was sending back.

"You must understand it was never my intention to harm Sam."

Dean's eyes flew open. "Your intention?" he repeated in a slow, deadly calm voice. "Tell me, what was your 'intention?' What is your fucking divine plan?"

Castiel did not respond for a long time. The silence was broken by a groan from Sam, who arched his back and jerked to one side, banging his leg on the bedside table. The impact did not even make him flinch.

"I can put him out," Castiel said, "if you would like."

Dean was on his feet at once, putting himself between Castiel and Sam. "Don't you dare touch him."

"I'm only trying to help you."

"Then find a way to fix him," Dean said, "and maybe I'll let you live."

Castiel returned Dean's gaze with one almost as dead as Sam's. He blinked and vanished, leaving behind a void that seemed to suck all the air from the room.

So shaken was Dean by the sudden departure, he did not even hear the knock at the door. A voice, however, did grab his attention. "Dean, open up. It's me."

Dean forced his feet to move across the room. It took him a couple of tries to remember how to work the doorknob.

Bobby stepped in just far enough to shut the door behind him. He glanced toward Sam's writhing form and paled. "How long has he been like this?"

The stunning clarity that had entered Dean's mind when Castiel was in the room had gone, replaced with the same haze as before. "I…I don't…" He stumbled backwards, ran into the empty bed, and sat down.

"Dean?"

Dean stared down at his hands. "I…"

"Quit stuttering, boy. Look me in the eye and tell me what happened. And don't you dare say, 'I don't know.'"

Dean bit down hard on his tongue to keep from saying just that and forced himself to look up. "Cas," was all he could muster up.

"Did he do this?"

Dean shook his head. "He was here."

Bobby looked away, turning his gaze to Sam. He moved over to the bed with slow, controlled steps and sat down next to Sam, touching his arm. Sam jerked away from him, writhing. Bobby pulled his hand away.

"Has he been like this since you called?"

"Yeah."

Bobby was silent a moment. "Dean, I know this is the last thing you want to hear right now, but I think it's time we started considering alternatives."

"Alternatives?"

"A hospital."

The horror of the idea was enough to shock Dean back to coherence. "A hospital wouldn't know what to do with him."

"No," Bobby agreed, "but tell me this. When's the last time Sam ate anything?"

Dean started. "I…I don't know."

"I can tell you it's been at least a day. How long would it have been if I hadn't said anything? How long would you let him sit here in his own filth before it even occurred to you to change his clothes? And that's not even starting in on the bed sores."

"Do you have a point?" Dean did not try to hide the contempt in his voice.

"My point is you can't handle this. Not by yourself."

"I have to. He's my responsibility."

"Dean—"

"No, Bobby." Dean stood. "I'm not leaving him in some hospital bed waiting to be attacked. This isn't Dad talking; it's me. I can do this. I can take care of him, and I can fix him."

Bobby looked like he wanted to argue further, but he just looked back at Sam. "Well, we can't do anything with him right now. Let's order some food and figure out a plan. But if he's not out of this in an hour, all bets are off. He's going to a hospital."

Dean had no more will to argue either. As Bobby dialed on his cell phone to order food though, Dean hoped that Sam would, if nothing else, go back to the way he had been before.

-o-o-o-

Author's note: Please review. Next chapter: Thirty-nine army men stand on a table. One of them is missing. Sam faces temptations of his past, but a visit from a stranger hurts just as much. Meanwhile, Dean gets an offer of help that reeks of ulterior motive, and a session that promises answers only raises more questions.


End file.
